String Quartet No.3

In his First and Second Quartets Bartók had been able to reconcile his increasingly personal style with conventional forms. But now, with his new language fully developed, he was on his own. The solution he found in the the Third Quartet is an early example of his characteristic arch form, the high point of the arch in this case being what he calls the “second part.” It is framed by a “first part,” with an eerie episode of night music at its centre, and a “recapitulation of the first part.” The Coda. is a brilliantly effective combination of thematic development and physical exhilaration.

When Bartók was on a tour of America in 1927 he entered his recently completed Third String Quartet in a competition organised by the Music Fund Society of Philadelphia. In the event, it won a joint first prize, which must have been enormously encouraging for the composer of such a radical score. In his First and Second Quartets Bartók had been able, with increasing difficulty, to reconcile his style with conventional forms. But now, when his new language was fully developed, he was on his own. The solution he found in the The Third Quartet is an early example of his characteristic arch form, the high point of the arch in this case being what he calls the “second part,” framed on one side by a “first part” and on the other a “recapitulation of the first part.”

It is characteristic of Bartók at this period that the most memorable and attractive version of the main theme of the Prima parte he reserves until near the end. That event is, in fact, the goal of a variation process that starts in the opening bars where the basic motif, a rising fourth and a falling third, is actually hidden from the ear. As it is gradually revealed, it generates more and more melodic interest, including an eerie night-music episode of violins uttering insect sounds pianissimo and sul ponticello over a muted ostinato on viola and cello. The melodic transfiguration of the main theme, in lyrical octaves on second violin and viola, occurs just before the transition into the quicker second part of the work.

The Seconda parte is much less evasive about the identity of its thematic material. Against a prolonged trill on second violin, the viola whispers a rising chromatic phrase and the cello introduces a rudimentary dance tune in double-stopped pizzicato harmonies. That, basically, is the source of all the developments that follow – including a rhythmically ingenious peasant dance and a hectic but lightly articulated fugue – in a continuous process of variation.

The Ricapitulazione della prima parte is not so much a recapitulation of the first part as a comparatively brief review of it from a different point of view. Although the pizzicato cello tune of the Seconda parte is also recapitulated here, the peasant dance is not. It is the latter material which becomes the main subject of the Coda – a brilliantly conceived combination of thematic development and cumulative physical exhilaration.

When Bartók left Hungary for a tour of America in 1927 he took with him his recently completed Third String Quartet in the intention of entering it for a competition organised by the Music Fund Society of Philadelphia. Much to his delight, tempered a little perhaps by having to share the rewards with Alfredo Casella, it won a joint first prize. Welcome though the prize money of 3,000 dollars was to a composer who was always short of funds, it must have been just as pleasing to receive such tangible encouragement on the strength of a score which was among the most radical of any he had written so far.

In his First and Second Quartets Bartók had been able, with increasing difficulty, to reconcile his style with conventional forms. By 1927, when his new language was fully developed and when he had clearly decided to extend the sound of the string quartet as drastically has he had extended that of the piano in Out of Doors in 1926, he was on his own. The lasting solution he was to work out a year later in the symmetrical arch-shape construction formed by the five movements of his Fourth Quartet - an arrangement which he found so satisfactory that he could use it again, with a little internal reorganisation, in the Fifth Quartet in 1934. The Third Quartet, though presented in one continuous movement, is an approach to the same kind of construction. The high point of the arch in this case is what he calls the “second part,” which is framed on one side by the “first part” and on the other by the “recapitulation of the first part.” The “coda,” though an anomaly as far as the symmetry is concerned, is an appendage necessary for the working out of the material.

It is characteristic of Bartók at this period that the most memorable and attractive version of the main theme of the Prima parte he reserves until near the end. That event is, in fact, the goal of a variation process that starts in the opening bars where the basic motif, a rising fourth and a falling third, is actually hidden from the ear. As it is gradually revealed, it generates more and more melodic interest, the most vivid of its early manifestations being on an emphatic viola in canon with first violin. A general pause precedes the introduction of a second kind of material, an eerie night-music episode of violins uttering insect sounds pianissimo and sul ponticello over a muted ostinato (based on the basic motif) on viola and cello. The night music merges with another new string-quartet sound in the middle of the movement, where massive chord clusters equivalent to those scored for piano in Out of Doors mark the central climax. The melodic transfiguration of the main theme, which appears in lyrical octaves on second violin and viola between plucked chords and bagpipe drones on first violin and cello, occurs just before the transition into the quicker second part of the work.

The Seconda parte is much less evasive about the identity of its thematic material. Against a prolonged trill on second violin, the viola whispers a rising chromatic phrase (quasi glissando) and the cello introduces a rudimentary dance tune in double-stopped pizzicato harmonies. That, basically, is the source of all the developments that follow in a continuous process of variation. The first and most extended of them is a rhythmically ingenious peasant dance evolved out of the cello tune and introduced by first violin while the second violin sustains its trill (which must be one of the longest in musical history) and cello and viola pluck an off-beat accompaniment. The most intense, which begins at the height of a series of accelerations in tempo, is a hectic but lightly articulated fugue beginning on second violin, which passes the subject of running semiquavers to cello, viola, and first violin in turn. It leads eventually, as the tempo falls again, into a recall of the pizzicato cello tune and, with another acceleration, an extraordinary passage of glissando exclamations in contrary motion at all levels of the texture.

The Ricapitulazione della prima parte is not so much a recapitulation of the first part as a comparatively brief review of it from a different point of view. The basic motif is so expanded, on the first entry of the cello, that it is scarcely recognisable. The staccato chattering of the night music, on the other hand, is unmistakable, even when it is deliberately hammered out at the heel of the bow on all four instruments just before the end of this section.

Although the pizzicato cello tune of the Seconda parte was recapitulated, the peasant dance was not. It is the latter material which, after a swirling sul ponticello introduction, becomes the main subject of the Coda. A brilliantly conceived combination of thematic development and cumulative physical exhilaration, provoking double-stopped glissando wails of excitement on viola and cello, it secures the most convincing and most thrilling ending in all of Bartók’s string quartets.